


Shamelessly So Unafraid

by junkster



Series: Numbered Days [1]
Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Blood and Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Link is a Hacker, M/M, Rhett is a Spy, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:44:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21594814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkster/pseuds/junkster
Summary: Rhett's a spy, Link's a computer genius. A supposedly simple mission takes a turn when they're discovered by their target and taken captive. For Rhett, the first rule of field agent school has always been to keep your partner safe at all costs.
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Series: Numbered Days [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559131
Comments: 14
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [mission success](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21555745) by [serpentkinglink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serpentkinglink/pseuds/serpentkinglink). 

> Thank you to serpentkinglink for inviting me to write in her wonderful world! Please make sure you check out her amazing story 'mission success' before reading mine.
> 
> I listened a lot to Endless Eyes by Alain Johannes (which inspired the title) and Clogger by 16 Horsepower while writing this.  
  
  
  


“Which one of you is known as ‘Link’?” are the first words out of the guy’s mouth, a sneer of distaste.

“I’m Link,” are the first words out of Rhett’s mouth. 

And _there’s_ the first sign that everything’s about to officially _Go To Shit_. 

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


Link sits in silence on the lino floor of the unfamiliar room, his back to the far wall, eyes fixed on the door. His heart is thumping loudly in his ears, adrenaline turning his veins to fire and his extremities to ice, hands and feet tingling with the expectation of fight or flight. 

It’s been ten minutes since Rhett was hauled to his feet and escorted from the room; thirty since they were discovered in the server room, destroying the mainframe with wire snippers and a handy crowbar; two hours since they broke into the compound; three since they left base, convinced that today’s job would be an easy one. 

It's another thirty minutes or so before the door re-opens and Rhett is deposited onto the floor in a way that makes Link wince, body falling with a thud of knees and elbows. Link’s eyes dart only momentarily to the guard’s face, cataloguing whatever he can, then he’s on his knees, hands coming down on Rhett’s arms as the door locks shut. 

“Hey...hey, you okay, man?” 

Rhett groans softly and one of his hands lands on Link’s knee, grabbing on tightly. “‘Just...need a minute.”

“A minute to what, expire?” Link asks, leaning down to listen to Rhett’s shaky breathing. “What’d they do to you out there? D’you see anything?”

Rhett doesn’t answer, just keeps on dragging in those breaths, his fingers digging into Link’s denim-clad knee. Link rests a hand gently at the crown of Rhett’s head, stroking through curls and trying to stifle the anger that’s sparking, flint on steel, deep in his chest. 

“It’s okay, man,” he says tightly. “I’ve got you. Take your time.” 

When Rhett turns over, finally, he stares up at the ceiling with hazy eyes for a long moment before diverting his gaze to Link. “Hey,” he says quietly, squeezing his hand when Link grasps it tightly. “Y'okay? They do anything to you while I was out?” 

“No, and why would they when you practically _threw_ yourself at them?” Link says sharply, waving a hand to dismiss the concern. “What'd they do to you, anyway?”

“Oh, y’know. Threatened to break all my fingers. Roughed me up a little. The usual.” 

Link looks down at the hand he’s holding, loosening his grip instinctively even as Rhett shakes his head.

“They didn’t get round to it,” he says reassuringly. 

“They beat you?” Link asks, his tone no-nonsense. “How bad?” 

“I’ve had worse.” 

“Gimme a straight answer for once, okay? Outta ten?” 

“A six, maybe. Nothing broken except maybe a rib or two.” Rhett looks down at himself and starts to push himself up to lean back on his hands, wincing as he locks his elbows behind him. “Bruises, mostly. One of them managed to punch me in the ear, knocked me a little loopy for a minute there.” 

“Why’d you tell them you were me?”

Rhett regards him for a moment, wary green eyes searching for the extent of Link’s anger. “To find out what they wanted,” he says simply, quietly. 

Link’s jaw twitches a little. “Which is?”

“To find out what we know. To make us pay for destroying months of work. To get us to rebuild everything.”

“I…” Link pauses, dropping his voice to a whisper in case they’re being bugged, leaning over Rhett to hide his lips from any potential cameras. “I can’t do that. I’m a software man, not a hardware nerd. I mean, we really went to town with those snippers...”

“Well, keep that to yourself for now, okay? D’you have your transponder?”

Link shakes his head. “Think I lost it in the struggle. You?”

“Yeah.” Rhett reaches a finger into the back of his mouth, pulls out the flattened remains of his tiny metal comms device. “You think it’s broken? I chomped on it half an hour ago and no one’s come for us yet.” 

Frowning as Rhett deposits it into his palm, Link turns it over once, twice. “I dunno, man. It looks okay to me. At a guess I’d say they’re having trouble getting into the compound, these people probably have guards stationed for miles around.”

Rhett nods in agreement. “Guess we’re just gonna have to do what we do best, Link.”

“Bullshit?” Link ventures.

“Bullshit.” 

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


It’s only twenty minutes before the door opens again, but there’s two guards this time and their guns are unsubtly visible at their hips. One speaks to the other in Spanish, pointing at Link. That spike of adrenaline flares up again, Link’s vision tunneling as he prepares to be taken. He’s crouching, poised on the balls of his feet, imagining barreling past them into the corridor and...

...And Rhett’s on his feet, walking towards them, rapid-fire Spanish spilling from his mouth as he blocks Link’s view of the guards. Blocks the guards’ view of _Link_.

“What’re you - “

He doesn’t even have time to finish the sentence before Rhett’s being grabbed again, brutal hands closing around his wrists and pulling him out of the room. 

“No!” Link shouts, stunned to find himself still there, alone again in the silence, that unused adrenaline sending him crazy. “It’s me! I’m Link. _I’m_ Link!” 

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


“What the hell’re you doing, man? You got a death wish I don’t know about?” 

Rhett shoots him a look as he fumbles at the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers, sliding down the wall behind him to sit cross-legged on the floor. “You know the rules.” 

He’d been tossed back in with all the decorum of a farmer with a sack of potatoes, hitting the floor on his hands and knees yet again, shirt hanging open and revealing the already-forming bruises across his chest. 

Link was straight up on his feet, hands balled into fists, too angry to do anything but try and use up some of that excess cortisol.

“Ah c'mon, you mean that crap they teach you guys in training? Yeah, I heard about that. You know who told me 'bout it? Alex.”

Rhett’s eyes drop to his hands, unable to hold Link’s fierce gaze as he invokes the memory of Alex, one of the company’s greatest hackers and the sweetest guy, and then, irrevocably…

“Mike _died_, Rhett. Mike died because he was brainwashed to do whatever it took to keep Alex alive, and if that meant throwing himself in front of a volley of bullets then, well, so be it.”

Rhett visibly flinches at Link’s words, shoulders hunching as he rubs at a dried-on spot of blood on his rolled-up sleeve. “There’s no conscious thought involved in the moment, Link. It’s instinctive, it’s our job. Mike did everything he could and should have done. He was a hero.”

“You seen Alex lately?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“Right. Because he had to leave the fucking country, man. He lost Mike, he had his heart ripped out of his chest, and his PTSD’s so bad he can’t even work anymore. So that really worked out great, huh!? We lost of one of them to death and one of them to heartbreak, and they were our _friends_, brother! So tell me, Rhett, in what screwed up, twisted universe do you think I would ever possibly want you to sacrifice yourself for me?” 

Rhett swallows as he leans back against the wall, hands limp and exhausted on his lap.

He looks tired; _god_, he looks tired. 

“I have to, Link,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.” 

Anger and frustration morph into desperation as Link moves towards him, getting down on his knees, blue eyes alight with fear. “I don’t wanna have to move to Canada to escape my demons, man,” he says vehemently, voice softening as he takes one of Rhett’s hands between both of his own. “I don’t want a future filled with cold desolation.” 

Rhett doesn’t answer, holding Link’s gaze just a second longer before slipping into unconsciousness, his fingers going lax between Link’s hands.

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


The room hums faintly. There’s a constant vibration from somewhere below, the floor thrumming under Link’s feet. Rain hammers against the glass of a small, long-since sealed up window, old, dirty glass behind thick metal bars. Something hisses quietly in one corner, the ticking, drowsy sound of central heating. Link sits and counts the white fibreglass ceiling tiles above him, stained with brown circles of water damage, one of them missing a corner and revealing the black, unnerving cavity up above. 

Link feels silence clawing at him; feels like he might explode under the intensity of it. He closes his eyes for a moment to feel it press in on him, his breath catching as Rhett stirs by his side. He turns his head to watch as wide-set green eyes flicker slowly open, wandering across the room before settling on Link with a drowsy detachment. Rhett reaches out, his hand wavering in the air for a moment before his split knuckles brush against Link’s left cheek, feather-soft.

Link feels his eyes well up, the world going hazy as tears cloud his vision. He wants to cry at the intimacy of it, the intensity of feeling after the mish-mash of mind-numbing boredom and absolute terror, the way Rhett’s skin feels against his own. He wants to scream. He settles for nuzzling a kiss to the palm of Rhett’s bloody hand, closing his eyes tightly and feeling one of those tears escape from between his lashes. 

As Rhett’s long, gentle index finger swipes it carefully away, the lock clicks. 

Link’s heart lurches. 

And the door opens.

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


When Rhett comes back this time, he’s shirtless and his hair’s dark and damp with sweat, two red-raw marks around his wrists and a distinct glassy, shocky look in his eyes. 

Link catches him as he staggers into the room, helping them both down to the ground and feeling panic flutter in his chest as Rhett twists in his arms to dry heave, bringing up nothing but a string of spit that hangs from his mouth. Link swallows and pulls his sleeve down over his hand, wiping it away, letting his thumb brush gently across Rhett’s split lower lip. He pats Rhett’s cheek, waiting for him to make slow, stuttering, delayed eye-contact before easing him down onto his back. Rhett’s heart is beating fast, the thready swell visible under his ribs, goosebumps making the hairs on his arms stand up. He holds Link’s eyes for a moment before closing his own, reaching out blindly to find Link’s hand and winding their fingers together tightly as he concentrates on breathing. 

“It’s okay, Rhett,” Link tells him softly, sorrowfully, bringing Rhett’s hand up to his mouth and kissing his bruised and battered knuckles. “It’s okay, brother.” 

The fight has left him, the anger he’d felt earlier in the day just a memory that’s like a physical thump to his chest. 

Now he’s just terrified and helpless, like he’s watching Rhett’s inherent strength get systematically thrashed out of him. 

Now, he doesn’t think about Alex, he thinks about _Mike_. Mike, with his dark hair and darker, careful, hunted eyes; Mike, who was shy and sweet and loyal to a fault, and who bled out on the asphalt of some shitty underground parking lot, hopeless and resigned to death, Alex’s broken cries of despair the last thing he ever heard.

Now, all he wants is to be able to wrap his arms around Rhett and protect him with every fibre of his being. The anger’s starting to turn outwards, out towards those bastards who’re hurting the most important friend he’s ever had, rage and fear and helplessness weighing so heavily.

Rhett doesn’t say a word this time. He stares up at the ceiling with glazed eyes, mute and lost, his mind elsewhere. 

Link doesn’t try to bring him back.

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


“Why’re you taking _him_?” he shouts at the guards when they reappear on the hour, struggling to pull one of them off Rhett and getting a smack in the mouth that sends him reeling backward, rage turning his world grey and red. “It’s me, you fuckers...it’s _me_!”

He’s left pounding on the closed door, belting his fists against the metal until it hurts, frustration so strong he feels crazed with it. 

And then, just as he’s starting to subside, just as he’s steeling himself for another thirty minutes of painful silence, he hears it. 

A crackle of static. A detached voice. A sound like a chain being rattled. 

Link looks up wildly towards the corner of the room nearest him, then one of the others, a horrible sinking feeling of distress settling over him like a cloud. 

“No…” he whispers, as Rhett’s voice rings out in surround sound. “Oh, no…”

He sinks down to sit on the floor, a hand over his mouth as Rhett calmly recites his service number, a robotic, emotionless tone that Link’s never heard before. 

“He’s still refusing to talk,” comes a new voice, a wired-sounding mid-western accent. “Get me the scalpel. I think his partner’s gonna get a real kick outta this.”

Ice slides down Link’s spine. Not only is he being treated to this new horror, but Rhett knows he’s listening; knows Link can hear him. 

“Cuff his right arm around his back,” the voice continues. “Hold his left flat against the table for me. You sure this is your choice, McLaughlin?” 

Rhett starts reciting his number again, once, twice, and on the third try the middle numbers dissolve into a gritted, choked sound of pain that makes Link’s stomach turn. 

“Don’t press so deep,” a different voice says with bored amusement. “We don’t want him to bleed to death. Not yet, anyway.” 

Link has to bite down on his knuckle to keep his emotions under control as he listens to Rhett’s shaky breathing, almost sure he can hear the scalpel as it slices through precious skin.

For the first time, he’s beginning to doubt that anyone’s coming for them. Beginning to doubt that they’ll make it out alive. It’s at least six hours since they had any water and his head’s beginning to throb, like his brain’s pushing on his skull.

Rhett cries out, hoarse and broken, the speakers crackling with static. 

Link slams his eyes shut.

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


“You’re bleeding on the floor, bo,” Link admonishes softly, getting a small, faint smile from Rhett that warms a little of the ice in his chest. 

They’re sitting opposite each other, Rhett backed up into the furthest corner of the room and Link in front of him, close enough that their feet are touching. Link had given him a minute this time before approaching. He’s seen what happens when an injured Rhett’s cornered; seen the way he punches first, asks questions later.

Rhett’s been gazing silently at Link for the last five minutes, his eyes - stunning at the best of times - like stained-glass, glinting with unshed tears of pain, a bodily reaction he just can't stamp down.

The soft, vulnerable inside of his left arm is a criss-cross of cuts, some alarmingly deep, blood trailing in rivulets down over his palm and fingers and onto the lino. Link’s wriggled out of his hoody and t-shirt and used the buckle of his belt to cut the shirt into something he can use as a bandage.

“I’m so sorry, man,” he says quietly, glancing up at Rhett’s face as he moves closer, carefully lifting Rhett’s hand up to rest on his knee so he can look at the damage. “I heard everything.” 

Rhett nods just slightly. “I know. Sorry, Link.” 

Link shakes his head vehemently as he starts to wrap the stretchy white cotton around Rhett’s arm. “I’m glad I know who and what we’re dealing with, now. Means I won’t be feeling any guilt when Stevie nukes this place to hell with all of ‘em in it.” 

“You still think they’re coming?” Rhett asks, tilting his head as he watches Link’s fingers work. There’s an alarming lack of confidence in his words.

“Of course they are. They know where we are, we just gotta…” Link trails off, looking up at Rhett with remorse. “I keep saying ‘we’. It’s not me that’s gotta hold on. They haven’t done _anything_ to me.”

Rhett reaches with his free hand to curl his fingers briefly around Link’s wrist. “That’s how it’s supposed to be, Link,” he says earnestly. “It’s what I want.” 

Link frowns as he drops his head and goes back to winding the material around Rhett’s arm, tearing the end so he can tie two tails together. He’s practically vibrating with anger, hands trembling.

“Link,” Rhett says, voice so soft and so fucking gentle.

“No!” Link cries. “I can’t be okay with that, man! I’d always, always choose for them to take me instead of you. Seeing you hurt is tearing me up.”

“I know, brother. And I’m not enjoying this either, believe me. But…” Rhett hesitates a moment, then finishes: “I’ve had worse than this, Link. I’m not about to break.”

Link meets his eyes with sorrow and regret, reaching out to touch Rhett’s face gently, thumb brushing across one of his cheekbones. “I don’t think I wanna know about that, Rhett.” 

“Then I won’t tell you,” Rhett promises. “And you’re right. We’ve just gotta hold tight and help will get here. Let’s have some faith.”

“I couldn’t do this job without you, man. You think anyone else would wanna be partnered with me? I’m a smart-ass. A jerk!”

Rhett huffs a laugh at that. “Don’t be saying that about my best friend, now.”

Link smiles ruefully. “Everyone wants to be partnered with you. You’re strong, handsome, charming. The charming southern boy! You’re smart, you're funny. Girls love you, _guys_ love you.”

“You ever looked in a mirror, Neal? You’re all of those things too. You’re incredibly talented.” 

“And you’re generous,” Link continues, ignoring him, expression soft as he strokes Rhett’s hair across his forehead. “You remind me of home. When we’re apart I feel like there’s this bungee cord that’s stretching and pulling and that tension doesn’t get any better ‘til I’m with you again. I ain't letting you go without a fight, Rhett.” 

Rhett leans forwards until they’re forehead to forehead, eyes closed as they breathe together, Link’s hand still in Rhett’s hair, the only sound that faint rumble of machinery coming from the basement beneath them. 

“You think they’re watching us?” Link asks. 

“Maybe,” Rhett murmurs, turning his head a little so that the word brushes against Link’s cheek.

“Okay,” Link breathes, and he presses their lips together, feather-light, breathing in through his nose as one of Rhett’s big hands comes up to cup his jaw. His fingers - fingers that have killed people - carry the scent of gun oil and pomade, so familiar it makes Link's heart lurch.

Rhett’s lips are cool and his mouth is hot, and _soft_, so fucking soft, and there’s a desperation in the way he wraps fingers of his other hand in the front of Link’s hoody, pulling him closer, keeping him near. Link slides a hand around the side of his neck, thumb against his pulse - too shallow, too fast.

They kiss as though their lives depend on it, hungry for the comfort and closeness of each other, wired after the hours of strain and blood and fear. Link can’t help the soft sound of desperation he makes, deep in his throat, as Rhett’s strong, callused fingers hold his jaw so tenderly, the make-shift bandage over his wrist brushing against Link’s chin. 

They stay close as they break apart, foreheads bumping as they look down at the space between them, Rhett’s fingers still clutching at Link’s top, Link squeezing the back of Rhett’s neck gently, listening to each other breathe in the stillness.

“Rhett,” Link exhales softly, “I…” he hesitates, letting up on his grip and pulling away enough to meet Rhett’s eyes, wonder sharpening into something else. There’s a noise, suddenly, alongside that constant hum, a new noise, something like the distant sound of a chopper. 

Rhett’s expression hardens, his entire posture changing from exhausted relief, muscles tensing as he sits up a little straighter. 

They look at each other, neither daring to verbalise their hope.

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


The door’s still swinging on one of its hinges as Eddie throws Link a walkie talkie, his eyes tracking across the pair of them. They linger on Rhett for a moment before hardening into a scowl, his hands returning to position around his AK-47. He’s wheezing slightly, a tell-tale depression in his bullet-proof vest right over his breast-bone. 

“Get downstairs,” he shouts over the resonating crash of an explosion further down the hall. “Go left - coast is clear. You’re tuned in to Stevie.”

And then he’s gone and Link’s pulling Rhett to his feet, eyes wide from the sudden cacophony of noise around them, his hands shaking so much he nearly drops the walkie. 

They take off, Link suppressing his instinct to just run as Rhett stumbles next to him, an arm wrapped tightly around his ribcage and a grim look of determination on his face. 

“Stevie?” Link hollers into the walkie, finger holding down the call button. “You there? Over.”

“I’m here,” comes the oh so familiar voice, and then: “I’m sorry, Link. Over.” 

“We’re clear to exit the building? Over.” 

“Kevin’s waiting for you, the car’s at the door. He’s taking you to the nearest safehouse, over.” 

“Negative, Rhett’s hurt. We need to get to a hospital, over.” 

“Listen to me, Link, it is _not_ safe for you to be out right now. You’re to go to the safehouse, wait for my instructions. Over.” 

“It’s fully stocked? Over,” Link says sharply, grabbing Rhett’s elbow as they make their way down three steps towards a fire exit, stepping over a body, yet another door blown off its hinges. There’s a car out there, windows tinted black. 

“Of course,” Stevie answers shortly. Then: “Is he okay, Link? Over.” 

“Sorry Stevie,” Link says. “You’re breaking up.”

He pulls his finger off the button and tosses the walkie over his shoulder, face set grimly as he yanks open the passenger door of the car.

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


Kevin had taken one look at Rhett before popping the trunk of his car and reaching for one of the immaculately organised storage boxes, taking off the lid and rummaging for a moment. He’d pulled out a soft, black, thick zip-up hoodie, pushing it gently into Rhett’s hands and looking up into his eyes for a second before diving back in and emerging with a couple of things for Link: a pair of guns and a new phone, pre-programmed with their most-used numbers.

“You shouldn’t’a done that,” Rhett says quietly, now, his fingers compulsively crinkling the thin plastic water bottle in his right hand. 

They’re five minutes away from the complex on a quiet country road, Kevin having driven them through the main gates with a spray of gravel that kicked back towards the looming, industrial looking building behind them. Link had turned to look at it, expression blank, before settling into the passenger seat and fixing his eyes on the road ahead. 

Rhett’s words are the first any of them have spoken since driving away. 

“She’ll get over it,” Link says calmly, clutching his own half-empty bottle of water in one hand. Rhett's is empty now, rolling around in the back near his feet. It’s the first thing they’ve had to drink in nine hours. “We’ll send her a selfie of you later, show her all your bruises. She'll forgive me. She always does.” 

Next to him, Kevin smiles to himself. 

“How come you’re driving and not in there with Eddie?” Link asks, leaning against the window to look at Kevin instead of the darkness outside. 

“I’m on light duties,” Kevin explains. “Cracked a couple of ribs on a training manoeuvre the other day.” 

“Jesus, you guys’re liabilities, all of you,” Link says, rubbing at his temple tiredly. 

“I know, right?” Kevin agrees with a smile. He glances across at Link, taking his eyes off the road for just a second. “D’you see Eddie? He okay?” 

Link thinks back to that near-hole in the middle of Eddie’s chest. “Yeah. Yeah, he was fine, man,” he says without hesitation. 

On the back seat, Rhett coughs, rough and raw. 

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


The safehouse is only forty minutes away, a bland, unmemorable town house on a quiet road, the lights from other houses glowing warm and cosy in the darkness. Kevin brings the car to a quiet, gentle halt at the kerb and unclips his seatbelt, looking behind him at Rhett’s sleeping form.

“You sure you’re gonna be okay?” he asks, turning back to look at Link with sympathy. “Me and David have orders to patrol the block for a couple of hours, make sure the coast remains clear. Jen and Chase take over at midnight. You need us, just call.”

“Right,” Link agrees wearily, reaching out to squeeze Kevin’s shoulder. “Thanks, man. We owe you.” 

“Nah, no worries. You guys’re gonna deserve some _serious_ downtime after this one.” 

Link looks out at the house, rain still streaking the car windows. “Help me get him inside?” 

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


The house is cool and quiet; small enough for Link to feel they’re secure. He sets the alarms at the front and back doors, turns on every light within reach, pulls every blind and curtain closed. 

Rhett stands, propped up against the island in the kitchen, watching him with dark eyes and pale skin, his arms wrapped around himself. He somehow manages to look small in that big, empty space.

“You hungry?” Link asks him quietly, looking into the well-stocked fridge. Nothing speaks to him. A never-before used cooker nearby winks _00:00_ over and over in digital green.

“Not really,” Rhett says, his voice a low, raw thing that draws Link towards him, blue eyes searching. They stand in front of each other, alone again, silent but for the hum of the refrigerator.

Link reaches out and lowers the zip of Rhett’s hoodie, slipping his hands underneath warm cotton and onto broad shoulders, slowly sliding it off and down over his arms. He watches it drop to the ground before leaning in and burying his face against Rhett’s collar bone, hands pressing into the small of Rhett’s back where the cold marble countertop meets warm, solid muscle. Rhett lifts an arm, threading his fingers into Link’s hair to cradle the back of his head gently. 

“I’m sorry, Rhett,” Link whispers, lips brushing the soft skin at the base of Rhett’s throat. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Rhett says, his voice a rumble that Link feels wherever they touch. “We made it out, Link. Again.” 

“Runnin’ out of our nine lives, bo.” 

“I’d say we’ve still got a good five or so in us.”

Link closes his eyes for a long, long moment, his hands curling around Rhett’s sides, his lips still pressed to Rhett’s throat, close enough to feel the heavy swell of his pulse. He lets one of his hands drift in towards Rhett’s navel and then slowly up towards his sternum, palm pressing flat over hot skin and solid bone. 

“I need you to come with me, man,” he murmurs, pulling away reluctantly to look up at Rhett’s face. “I need to patch you up.” 

Rhett doesn’t say anything, just nods and acquiesces silently with an outstretched hand, following as Link leads him towards the bathroom.They shed boots and socks along the way, picking up the large first-aid kit from the closet in the hallway. Link’s t-shirt is stretched tight across his shoulders by the double holster Kevin had handed him by way of goodbye, two loaded glocks in easy reach. 

“Did Kevin put the safety on for you?” Rhett asks, blinking as Link pulls the bathroom’s light cord.

“Shut up, man,” Link shoots back fondly, smiling and guiding Rhett to sit on the edge of the bathtub. From there he can see Rhett’s back reflected in one of the mirrors on the corner cabinet, and he freezes. “Ho-ly...what is that?”

Rhett takes a moment to work out what he means, then he says a quiet ‘Oh’ and turns sideways on so that Link can see it up-front. 

“They _burned_ you,” Link realises, sorrow twisting at his heart as he looks from the red, raw marks across Rhett’s shoulder blades up to Rhett’s soft eyes.  


“Cattle prod,” Rhett says simply, looking towards the mirror over the sink where his own face stares back at him.

“Gosh, Rhett. _God_.”

“Doesn’t hurt anymore, man,” Rhett assures him, looking swiftly away from his own tired, bruised eyes to watch Link rifle through the large first-aid box. 

“Might when I put this antiseptic on, though. Hold steady there, buddy.”

Rhett does as he’s told, fingers curling over the edge of the tub and eyes closing as Link runs gentle, cream-cold fingers across his back. 

“Can you give me a run-down of what they did to you?” Link murmurs distractedly, moving to do the same to the red-raw torn skin around each of Rhett's wrists. “I know you hate it, but I need to know.”  


“Prod,” Rhett says, thumb jerking towards his back. “Gave me a good kicking once or twice. Cut my arm with the scalpel. Cuffed me and hung me by my arms for a while. Played me some noise torture tapes at full volume, but I’m kinda inured to those from training. They had some needles full of something, I’m real glad we didn’t stick around to find out what was in those. Tied my wrists and dunked my head into a sink full of water a few times, held it under.”

“Jeez, Rhett, they tried to drown you? That time when your hair was wet? I thought that was _sweat_!” 

“They just wanted to scare me, not kill me. I’ve been trained to hold my breath for a long time, man, that was the least of my worries.” 

“The drugs…”

“Right. Bad guys seem to have a thing for drugging people. It’s the newest, most fashionable way to get people really confused and scared. I’ll take the beatings any day.”

Link shakes his head as he starts peeling the blood-stained remains of his t-shirt from Rhett’s arm, a fresh dressing and bandage at the ready. “Remind me to unpack that with you a little more one day. You doing alright, there? Let me know if you start to pass out, okay?”

“Right back at you, friend.”

“Rhett, I’ve seen enough of your blood to last me a lifetime. The days of fainting at a paper-cut are long gone. By the way,” Link adds, face set in concentration as he slides a safety pin through gauze and bandage, “when you’re recovered we’re gonna have a little talk about self-worth.”

Rhett huffs a soft little laugh through his nose, an acknowledgement, if nothing else.

Link stands back and tilts Rhett’s chin up with gentle fingers, the trust in Rhett’s vulnerable eyes not helping the lump in his throat. He catalogues boot-shaped bruises, burn marks, cuts covered by stark-white bandaging, a split lip, broken ribs hidden away in that broad chest, potential danger of inhaled water and pneumonia, potential for infection in the open wounds. He notes the packet of antibiotics in the kit as he closes the lid.

“You want a drink before bed? Something strong to help you sleep?” 

Rhett shakes his head, his curls unruly after the shitstorm of a day they’ve had. He leans forwards, pressing his forehead to Link’s belly, breathing warm through his t-shirt.

“Something strong to help me sleep,” he mumbles, hands coming up to hold Link’s hips. “You about fit that bill, Link.”

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


Link checks the back door, the front door, every single window and then circles back around to the front door, peering through the peephole out at the street. He leaves the kitchen light on and the porch light, watches and waits to see Kevin's car drive quietly past the house before retreating to the bedroom. 

Despite being tired his nerves are still jangling, his hands still trembling. It's been a lifetime since his last coffee and his head's pounding, sleep the last thing on his mind. He stands in the doorway and allows himself to watch Rhett for a long moment, lying on his right side on top of the sheets of the queen-sized bed. His pants are lying in a pool on the carpet and he's a vision of strength and fortitude in just his tight black boxers, legs for days and the muscles in the long length of his back highlighted by shadows. He's not asleep, not yet, and Link knows he won't allow himself to until they're together again, side by side, but at least he's resting.

"I'll be there in a minute, man," he says softly.

Grabbing his new phone, he pads back into the kitchen and sits down at the table, resting his head in his hand as he searches through for a familiar number and then listens to the dial tone.

"Hey, Chase? Hey, man. Yeah, we're out. Look, Kevin said you've got the nightshift? Can you do me a favour before you start? Yeah. I heard McDonalds have started doing the McRib again. Y'think you can you get us, like, ten or so?"

  
  
  



	2. Human Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

  
  
  
Link wakes at five am on the dot after a couple of hours of light, uneasy sleep. It’s still dark outside and the blinds block out any hint of moonlight, the quiet, suburban street outside silent and still. 

He slides his hand into the empty space next to him, feeling the residual warmth of Rhett’s body, knows now what had called him out of his doze. 

There’s a light on in the ensuite bathroom and he lies there for a moment and listens to the patter of water on the tiled floor and the faint whirr of the extractor fan. For a second it takes him back to that room and its constant humming background drone, and his heart begins to pick up speed. 

He swallows and swings his legs over the side of the bed to sit for a few seconds, reaching up to touch his face. He feels stiff and sore from the backhand he’d taken to the mouth the day before. He slides his lower jaw from one side to the other, wincing.

He stands, bare feet on soft carpet, feeling the dark warmth of the room against his bare skin. He’s wearing his boxers and nothing else.

He pushes open the ajar bathroom door and walks in, coming to a halt as he takes it all in: the underfloor heating as he curls his toes against the tiles, the big, walk-in shower, the soft, muted green tones, the soft spread of towels next to the porcelain sink, and Rhett.

Rhett stands with his back to the door, hands pressed to the tiled wall, fingers splayed, elbows locked, head down as the shower sluices over his nape and down the long curve of his spine. The only sound is the water hitting the floor, the only movement the slow rise and fall of Rhett’s broad, damaged shoulders as he breathes. 

Link feels goosebumps crawl across his skin despite the warmth. The steam in the air smells of mint, clean and fresh.

Rhett turns, sensing his presence, and leans back against the wall with his hips cocked, tipping his head back to let the water run down his chest and hips and long, long legs, his hands tucked behind his back to leave his body open and vulnerable. He meets Link’s gaze in silence, his eyes as clear as the water and as mellow as the soft tones in the tiles, a calming, soothing depth in them that heals some of the residual anxiety and fear in Link’s chest.

He pulls off his glasses as the steam renders them useless and places them on the side of the sink, and he starts making his way towards the centre of his universe. Even with his vision dimmed Rhett looks good - _so_ good - the ceiling spotlights casting contrasting shadows along the lines of muscle in his arms and thighs. He's _golden_. 

Link steps under the water without hesitation, soaking his boxers to his skin as he crowds Rhett against the wall, pressing flush up against his body, burying his nose against the base of Rhett’s throat and breathing in that sharp scent of mint shower gel as Rhett’s long fingers curl around his hips.

“I love you,” he whispers against Rhett’s mouth, closing his eyes as Rhett kisses him softly, his big, wet hands coming up to cup Link’s face. The pressure on Link's jaw hurts and it feels _good_, the pain sharpening his mind to a single point of want and _need_. 

Rhett takes his time, distracting with his tongue and his gentle fingers. “I love you too,” he answers eventually, voice a low, slow rumble that Link feels through their chests. “So much.”

“You look so good,” Link complains softly, desperately, fingertips digging into Rhett’s hips. “You’re ob_scene_.”

Rhett smiles, his lips against Link’s temple. “You walk in here looking like you do and _I’m_ obscene? You walk out of a day like we had, you barely sleep and you still manage to be the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen? C'mon, man.”

Link grins warmly and runs his fingers down the centre of Rhett’s chest, nudging him into another slow, deep kiss that sends sparks all the way to his fingertips. One of Rhett’s hands runs through his wet hair, pushing it away from his forehead, the press of his palm against Link’s temple chasing away the headache that’s been lingering all night.

“I wanna kiss you so badly,” he says quietly. “I wanna kiss you for hours until I can’t even feel my _mouth_ anymore.”

Rhett smiles slowly, his whole expression so benevolent and fond it makes Link’s heart clench in his chest.

“You need to stop looking at me like that before I start to cry,” he points out gently, frankly, then kisses him again. Even through it he can still feel Rhett smiling.

He gets to kiss this man. This six-feet-and-seven-inches tower of strength, with his misguided loyalty to the world of espionage and his painful lack of self-worth. He gets to delve his hands into golden curls and gaze into the cool, green water of his eyes. He gets to unwrap him from his clothes; whether it be the finest quality dinner jacket or an old, worn plaid shirt, the reveal of solid muscle and soft, warm skin underneath never failing to thrill. He gets to be the sole recipient of Rhett’s attention, to lie naked and vulnerable under those big hands and under the weight of that strong body, to feel so much that nothing in the world matters but being together, alone.

And though the world keeps on throwing them into peril, they’re still together. A little more bruised and tired and damaged each time, but not broken. Never broken.

He curls his fingers gently around one of Rhett’s shackle-marked wrists, thumb rubbing feather-light across marred skin.

“You okay?” he asks quietly. “You must be hurtin’ today.”

“You’re helpin’,” Rhett says sweetly, flexing his fingers so that Link can feel the sinews tense under his hand. His bruised and split knuckles look raw next to Link’s pale skin. “I’m okay. Been better. Been worse too.”

“I know,” Link says, a soft lament. “I know, man.” 

“I’m here, Link. I’m whole. You c’n do whatever you want with me.”

Rhett’s gaze is levelled at Link with unblinking intensity, full of heat and suggestion, and there’s something passive about it; He beckons with warm, gentle eyes, the most relaxed Link has seen him in a long, long time. He understands, suddenly, that Rhett is giving himself up. Letting Link be the one that does the protecting, does the caring this time; the one in control. Rhett is handing himself over, body and soul.

Link's heart twists painfully. Sometimes he finds he can barely breathe, he feels so much love.

Rhett brings their foreheads together as his hands slide down over Link's sides to his boxers, thumbs hooking under the elastic and dragging down slowly, his eyes watching the reveal of every inch of skin. As Link steps out of them and kicks them away to the side, Rhett curls a hand around the back of Link’s neck, thumb running slowly back and forth across the pulse at Link’s carotid artery.

“You wanna fuck me, Link?” he asks softly. 

Link exhales slowly, heat sliding low down in his belly. 

“No, man,” he says, tilting his head to brush their mouths together, his words a whisper against Rhett’s lips. “I just wanna make you come.”

Rhett's eyelashes flutter against Link's cheek. 

"I'm not made of glass, Link."

"Yeah you are. Today, y'are. You've got a few hairline cracks in you, pal, and my job's to glue those back together, not make 'em worse. You've had enough pain for a lifetime, bo."

They breathe in unison in the muffled warmth of the bathroom. 

Link moves closer, close enough to find Rhett's mouth, until his tongue is sliding across one of Rhett's canines as his dick presses hard into Rhett's hip. 

"I want your tongue in my mouth and your come on my belly," he says, low and yearning, that one, simple thought the only thing running through his mind. "I'mma make you come all over me."

Rhett sighs softly with longing, their kiss growing to something more urgent as Link runs a hand down between their bodies and wraps his fingers around both of them, an exhalation of relief forced through his nose as Rhett sucks on his tongue, his hips rolling into Link's grip.

Link reaches out with his other hand to turn the shower off, the sudden cessation of that cascading water leaving the room silent but for their own heavy breathing and nothing else, so erotically intimate.

He turns his head so he can whisper into Rhett's ear, heartbeat thick in his chest. 

"C'mon back to bed with me," he murmurs.  
  
  



End file.
